Fine Art
by lachlanrose
Summary: After being on her own for several years, Marie returns to the mansion. Things get painted. Sparks fly. W/R AU
1. The Past

**Title:** Fine Art  
**Author:** lachlanrose  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Thankfully that doesn't stop me from playing with that Logan one. Heh.  
**Feedback:** Is better than chocolate. The good, the bad, the ugly, welcome. Flames may be publicly mocked. )  
**Summary:** After being on her own for several years, Marie returns to the mansion. Things get painted. Sparks fly. W/R AU  
Notes: This one is just a bit AU. Everyone still has all their regular powers. Logan arrives at the school after Marie's gone and doesn't meet her until several years later. I'm warning you all now, _this story is unfinished_. Let me say that again: **This. Story. Is. Unfinished.** (And it's likely to remain that way.) I was writing this story when some really bad juju was going down in my RL. Two cross country moves and several years on, I came back to it and realized somewhere along the way I'd lost all my notes and (possibly) the desire to finish what I'd started. Regardless, it still remains as one of my favorite pieces and y'all wrote and let me know that you wanted to see it, even if it was only the first five chapters of a much longer story. I might at some (very distant!) future point, consider adding to it. I intend to finish Shine Against Me and Holding Ground II, first. We'll see if the bunnies have returned at that point. It stands alone as it is, sort of like the first act of a play. It's adult in theme (duh - it's me) as I write for an adult audience and prefer not to impose limits on my imagination (or my characters). You have been warned. :) Onward!

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**Fine Art**

Charles smiled at the soft rap on his study door and straightened in his chair, brushing a speck of non-existent lint from his impeccable suit. For as much as he was looking forward to this meeting — as was customary when a past student returned to visit the school — he was well aware he and this particular student had not parted on the best of terms. Despite the maturity of both parties involved, he knew this fragile beginning was delicate at best... and this was no ordinary visit. She was not here to rehash 'the good old days.'

"Please, come in." Although his tone was carefully even, he was curious what changes had taken place in her since she'd left them. Ten years was a long time. He knew it was no longer his business, but the teacher in him wondered if she'd ever learned to control her mutation. A young woman — in gloves — entered his office and closed the door after herself. _Ahhh... Gloves_. How very sad that control had eluded her all these years. Although he had expected no different, seeing them was still difficult.

Charles nodded as he took her measure. Where had the time gone? He suddenly felt very old. She was lovely — conservatively dressed in a long dark skirt, boots, a fitted top and gloves, all in similar charcoal tones. Her hair was up, but the tendrils around her face and the sheer scarf at her throat softened the look, making it eclectic instead of severe. Her features were the same, only more refined. She had the face of a woman now, without any hint of the adolescent awkwardness he remembered. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Rogue."

A reserved, polite smile touched her lips. "Thank you, Professor."

He noted that, while unfailingly polite, she didn't return the pleasantry. He motioned to the chair across from his desk. "Please, call me Charles. I haven't been your teacher for some years now."

At that she did smile, settling herself gracefully into the chair. It was a warm smile, but still clearly professional rather than personal. He had expected that as well. Apart from that brief allusion to their former teacher/student status, neither of them seemed eager to revisit the past.

It might not have been given voice, but it still rested heavily between them. How could it not? Of all the children he'd tried to help over the years, he'd regretted his failure with her the most — not just because she'd have made a fine addition to his X-Men, but because he understood the desperation of being trapped inside a body that betrayed the dictates of the mind that lived within it. She was much too young and had far too much passion to go through life being untouchable. How he'd wanted to help her with that. His failure to convince her to stay after the incident with Magneto weighed heavily on his heart.

But even back then, he'd understood her desire to leave. In truth, he probably would have done the same. She'd been a runaway, like most of his other students. He'd found her with Cerebro and sent Scott and Storm after her with promises of a new start. A safe place to sleep. Food. School. Friends who understood the value of acceptance. Perhaps even, with his help, the opportunity to control her gifts. He'd barely had three months with her before Magneto had stolen her away. Three short months. It was enough to make his eyes burn.

Oh, Scott, Jean and Storm had rescued her in the end, but not before Erik had raped her mind and nearly killed her in that damned machine of his. It was little wonder she didn't trust him to keep her safe after that. Whatever hardships she'd encountered alone on the road had paled in comparison to what she'd experienced that night in the torch, and she'd left shortly after Jean and Hank had released her from the medlab.

Charles had done his best to convince her otherwise, but she'd remained steadfast in her decision to go. She'd coldly, but politely, thanked him for rescuing her, silently listened to his arguments, and then quietly told him in no uncertain terms that she felt far safer alone on the road than she did at this school. Her hands were trembling, but her voice was steady as she told him that she was sorry if he didn't like it, but she was leaving and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

And then she'd walked away and never looked back.

He'd tried to keep track of her through his frightfully extensive network of contacts, and had reasonable success for nearly two years before he'd lost track of her. There was a stretch of several years after that where he heard absolutely nothing. Those were the most difficult years — at least before then he could appease his conscience with the knowledge that she was still alive, even if he had failed her. In the five years without any sign of her, his hope had started to wane. She had passed out of his life and beyond even his incredible reach. He was not God. Then, just when he had almost resigned himself to the notion that all hope was lost, fate had intervened.

He couldn't have been more surprised when whispers of a talented young artist named Rogue began to reach his ears. He did some checking. This painter — a young woman whose age and appearance reportedly matched those of his long-lost student — was making something of a splash in the upscale New York art scene. She hadn't yet had a show of her own, but several of the galleries known for discovering cutting-edge artists were already showing her work. Nothing extensive, only a painting or two apiece... but it was enough.

Charles made a discreet trip to see this artist's paintings for himself and was shocked by what he found. Whoever she was, she was very good. The work was still raw, but captivating — almost uncomfortably so. _Transported._ There was no other word for the feeling one got from viewing her work. The passion and emotion in each painting was shocking in intensity. It wasn't until the third gallery and the fifth painting that he realized he'd finally, truly found her.

Rogue.

He'd left elated, emotionally disturbed, and two thousand dollars poorer, but in possession of a piece of art that now hung in his private study. He fought the urge to cover it every single time he saw it. It was too raw, a man's heart exposed for the world to see in tones of metallic gray. Soldier's boots. Muddied ground. A sense of oppression, of terror. A pair of gates, horrifically bent at an impossible angle, and one gangly, dirty hand reaching forward in sheer, unmitigated desperation. The moment at which everything that followed had become inevitable. The death of his mother. His progression into Shaw's monster. The descent into darkness. One could almost hear the screams.

It was exactly as Erik had described it to him so very many years ago, back when things were different between them. Before they stood on opposite sides of a line drawn in the sand. Before they were enemies.

Charles had sat in front of the painting, motionless, for long minutes as the memories flooded back, pressing in like a wave. So much had changed between himself and Erik over the decades, and yet Charles had still been unable to leave the painting behind — a painfully intimate moment like that could not continue to be viewed publicly by strangers. Even as he'd arranged to buy the piece, he'd admired the finesse with which Rogue had so coldly exacted her revenge.

What a fitting punishment for what Magneto had done to her. He'd violated her mind and she'd used the memories he'd forced upon her to paint the single most traumatic moment of his life — baring his private hell, baring his very _soul_ to anyone who cared to see it. What a hellishly perfect torment for someone as private and reserved as Erik.

In the three years since he'd bought that damnable painting, Rogue had steadily grown better, her work more refined. It no longer crudely reached out and clouted the viewer over the head with its raw, naked passion. It was still as powerful and as captivating, only more subtle - a whisper instead of a shout. And thankfully, there had been no more images from Erik's haunted past. Although she still painted for herself, she'd also begun discreetly taking commissions. Due to the social circles in which he traveled, Charles had been privileged to view a select few of those as well, and he had been quite impressed with the results.

After much deliberation, he'd placed a call to her agent, requesting a meeting with her to discuss several pieces he wished to have commissioned, an act that would kill multiple birds with one stone — if she agreed. He'd not only be able to reconnect with a lost student, and perhaps come to know her as a woman and a friend, but he'd acquire some very fine pieces for the school and for his personal collection as well.

He also intended to commission her to do a painting for each member of his senior staff. For some time now, he'd wanted to give them a token of his appreciation. Something above and beyond their regular salary. He knew what they did day in and day out was far from easy. None of them would accept a gift of money, and he'd never be so crass or insulting as to offer it, but he very much liked the idea of giving them each a unique, highly personal gift. Something for which Rogue seemed to have a unique talent, if her previous work was any indication.

There was a long, awkward silence before Charles shook himself from his reverie and found his voice. "Forgive me, Rogue. It was not my intent to make you ill at ease." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Perhaps it would be best for me to be blunt." His mouth turned up in amusement and his tone became wry. "If I remember correctly, that was your preferred style of communication, was it not?"

This time, her smile was genuinely warm, even if her eyes were still wary. "A lot has changed since then." Her smile grew bigger. "But not that."

Charles smiled in response. "Ah, yes. The truth, straight up. No chaser." He watched her eyes widen briefly in response to his unexpected choice of words, and he felt the need to explain his very un-Charles-like response. "A favorite phrase of one of my staff." He offered, giving her a thoughtful look. "You remind me a lot of him, actually."

"Scott?" Marie couldn't imagine Hank ever using the phrase 'straight up, no chaser.'

His brow furrowed momentarily. "No. Logan." He paused for a long moment. "He joined us a few months after you left." Charles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But I'm getting ahead of myself." He smiled apologetically. "Let me ring for tea and start at the beginning."

Marie nodded and settled herself back into the chair for what promised to be a very interesting conversation.

* * *

Up next: **The Deal**. There are details and then there are _details_. Rogue drives a hard bargain, but this time Charles is determined to keep her from slipping through his fingers…


	2. The Deal

Charles paused over the silver tea service. "Milk and honey?"

Marie was surprised he still remembered how she used to take her tea. She was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of long talks in this very office... seemingly endless cups of strong Earl Grey tea, sweet English biscuits, a mentor's very earnest desire to help her control her 'gift,' and long, involved conversations on just about every topic under the sun. Within her mind, Erik stirred uneasily at her remembered intimacy with Charles. Her smile became strained.

"Just plain, thank you." It had been a long time since she'd been a young girl living here, blissfully enjoying the life of milk and honey. She wasn't bitter. It had been her choice to come here, both back then and today. It had been her choice to leave, too, but she wasn't that soft, naive girl any longer. "And the truth, straight up. No chaser."

Charles nodded thoughtfully as he handed her a steaming cup of tea. "Quite right." He paused a moment to pour his own tea. "I see no reason to dance about the reason for our mutual discomfort." Charles took a steadying sip of the hot brew. "I have not forgotten that we did not part on the best of terms, Rogue."

"I'm sorry it had to be that way."

"As am I." He set his tea on the edge of the desk and leaned forward intently. "I would not insult you by pretending I do not hope for some reconciliation between us on that matter, should you choose to accept my proposal, but that is not the reason I requested this meeting."

"I wouldn't have come if I thought it was." Unwavering, her dark, intelligent gaze met his.

Charles was beginning to realize this might be more difficult than he initially imagined. She'd always been tough — a fighter — but there was real steel in her now.

"Let me speak plainly. As I discussed with your agent, I wish to engage your services to paint several pieces."

"Several?"

He nodded. "I am aware most patrons do not commission more than one or two works, and I know my request is highly... _unusual_."

"Exactly how many paintings are you talking about, Charles?"

"Ten."

To her credit, Marie's cup rattled only once in the saucer before she regained her composure. "That's more than six months of work. Probably closer to nine." And one _hell_ of a lot of money.

"Yes. I am aware of that." He reached for his tea. "I wish to commission five paintings for the school, in part because I find your work captivating and in part because it's good for the students here to know that it is possible—forgive me—but that it is possible for mutants, even those with extreme gifts, to make a place for themselves in today's world... with or without this school's help," he added, knowing that last detail would be a major sticking point for her. He knew she wouldn't want to be a poster child for the school that had failed to keep her safe. He took a sip of tea and his eyes twinkled. "And in part because it's a very fine investment."

Marie smiled at that. "Do you have a specific subject or a theme in mind." It was much easier to talk to him as a potential client than as a past professor.

Charles shook his head. "You would be free to paint whatever you wish. My only request is that they be new pieces, inspired by whatever strikes your fancy here at the school rather than paintings you are currently working on or have already finished."

"Of course." In the fickle art world, reputation was everything and she'd never take advantage of a client in that fashion. "What about the other five?"

"I wish those to be of a more personal nature. You have quite a talent for capturing a person's... _essence_... on canvas." He thought again of Erik's pain laid bare for all the world to see.

"Thank you."

"No thanks is necessary. You are exceedingly good at what you do." He smiled, echoing her earlier words. "I would not have invited you here had I thought otherwise, despite the fact you used to be my student." She smiled at that. "I wish these last five paintings to be a gift, one for each member of my senior staff. I can think of nothing I'd like more than to give back to each of them a bit of the inner fire they give to this school, to the children, and to the team on a daily basis."

She looked thoughtful. "Sometimes that 'inner fire' is hard for the subject to... appreciate." Sometimes because they just didn't see it themselves, and sometimes because what she saw was difficult for the subject to accept or to share with a larger audience. Although Erik's painting was the only one where she'd purposefully exposed a man's private torment to a public audience, not all of her paintings were 'pretty', emotionally speaking.

"I understand. I do not intend for these gifts to be given publicly."

"You should know that sometimes I can't find the fire and I would rather refuse a commission than paint something with no feeling."

"I appreciate your honesty." He poured them both more tea. "Let me be honest with you as well. From my discussion with your agent, I understand that to paint so true a picture of a person's heart, you must get to know the subject rather well, which I believe would necessitate your living at the school, at least during the formative stages of the creative process. Am I correct?"

"Yes." Her voice held a distinctly wary tone. "I usually spend a great deal of time familiarizing myself with the subject, whether it's a person or a landscape." She met his gaze again. "But I'm not sure that my living here, even for a short time, is a good idea. I appreciate what your team does, but I don't want to be a part of it. I didn't then and I don't now. I'm sorry."

"I understand. I wish only to retain your services as an artist." He paused, smiling a little apologetically. "And perhaps to mend a few broken fences... and if you would permit me, to get to know the woman you've become. There will be no pressure to join the team." The last was spoken decisively, with only the barest hint of disappointment.

Charles could tell she was wavering. "I would see to it you had a suite of rooms to yourself and the upstairs salon would make a lovely studio. I can ensure you will not be disturbed there if that is your wish." He knew a great many painters did not like anyone to see their work while it was in progress.

"Ever the hopeful, eh, Charles?" Erik's words slipped out before she could stop them.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "Indeed." There was a moment of awkward silence. "I could—"

"No. No pressure to join the team and no discussions about the people in my head or my 'gifts'." She wasn't naive enough to believe he didn't still harbor some hope she'd change her mind and join the team, but she knew he'd keep his word. He'd make sure there wouldn't be any overt pressure. "My other clients respect my privacy and I'd expect the same of you if I were to accept your proposal."

"I'm sorry. You are correct. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise."

Marie nodded, veering the subject back to the matter at hand. "You mentioned five senior staff?"

"Yes. Scott, Jean, Ororo and Henry you already know. Logan joined us after you left, and although he would prefer not to be at times, he is just as much a member of the team as the others." Charles chuckled softly. "He is a bit of an acquired taste, but we all owe him our lives many times over and he's got something of a golden touch with wayward children." An understatement to be sure. The man attracted strays like some sort of gruff, cigar-smoking pied piper.

"He sounds interesting."

"Of that you can be sure." He swallowed a droll chuckle.

"What's his mutation?"

Charles was silent a long moment, his fingers steepled in contemplation. When he answered, his voice was low and quiet. "He heals."

"Heals what? Other people?" That would make sense, considering Charles' earlier statement that Logan had saved their lives many times over. Marie knew first hand that not all missions ended prettily, just as she knew most 'gifts' did not come without a price.

"Not precisely." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Jean calls it 'uncharted regenerative capability'. To put it simply, he heals. From almost anything."

Marie's smile faded. "How sad."

Charles looked at her sharply. That wasn't a typical response, but then again, Rogue was far from 'typical' herself. "Sad?" He inquired softly.

Marie nodded. "Well, 'almost anything' would have had to have happened to him at one time or another for him to know he healed from it, wouldn't it?"

Charles was silent a beat too long and Marie could tell he was holding something else back. Interesting. "Quite right," he finally said, shrugging noncommittally. "He is also an intensely private man. Perhaps it would be best if I let you form your own opinions. I much prefer to see your honest take on him — on them all — rather than letting my perceptions cloud your artistic vision." And he was intensely interested in seeing how she'd translate Logan's fiery essence to a two dimensional canvas. He'd have sworn it couldn't be done at all were it not for the picture of Erik's bleeding heart hanging in his private study.

Her eyes darkened for a moment while she thought it over and she set the empty cup and saucer on his desk, absently smoothing her skirt. "That's the way I usually prefer to work."

He smiled. "Does that mean you have accepted my proposal?"

Clear, dark eyes met his and when she spoke, her words were carefully chosen. "Surely you know what a coup ten commissioned works from someone of your status would be for me - and what it would mean to my career."

A non-question and a non-answer; a very typical Rogue response. Charles swallowed a smile. "Yes. I am also aware you do not let the particulars of a given situation dictate your actions. You have always done what you wanted to do, Rogue." The last was spoken with more than a little respect. "And I am also well aware you have other offers on the table, a few of those from collectors with reputations that far exceed my own." Charles smiled and said simply, "You will choose to be here if, and only if, _you_ wish to." He nodded pleasantly. "As it should be."

At his words, he saw her lips curl into a grin, the first smile he'd seen from her that touched her eyes as well as her mouth.

"What you're asking is almost unheard of." Ten paintings? However it sounded, they both were savvy enough to understand it wasn't only about the paintings.

"Indeed. I have always enjoyed blazing my own trail."

_I remember. _

She fought down Erik's memories of another time and another life. She had her own history to make now. Her own story to write and she refused to let either of them dictate the terms. The risk was too great.

"We both know what this would mean for me." She would be a fool not to jump at the chance. "But I'm not foolish enough to imagine this will be painless for either of us." It wasn't an offer that came without strings.

"Nothing worth doing is ever easy."

"I agree." That surprised him. "But I still wouldn't touch this job for less than double my regular fee."

He had expected a counteroffer, but not one that high. "Half."

"Double," she said again. "I know my paintings aren't worth that. Not yet. But they will be." The both knew it. "It's not that. It's all the rest of it. Call it compensation for pain and suffering if you want to."

"The rest?"

"You're asking for almost a year of my life. A year spent living here again. Dredging up those old memories. Putting up with the questions and the not so subtle attempts to motivate me towards joining the Black Leather Brigade."

"You have my word—"

"You don't speak for everyone and the last time I took your word at face value, I almost died. It took me years to put myself back together." It was more than she wanted to admit to him, but it was the truth. "Double. It's a lot, but it's more than fair for what you're asking." Sure, it would be a huge boon to her career, but they were both aware she didn't need his patronage now. Her star was already on the rise. It would happen more slowly without him, but it would happen.

He considered her words carefully. She was right. From her perspective, he'd played a critical part in an a very painful chapter of her life. Years, she'd said. _Years_ to put herself back together. And now here he was wanting another year.

"Double," he said, nodding just once. Now was not the time to try to haggle, or to make amends.

Her smile returned, warm and vibrant. "I'll have my agent fax your secretary the necessary paperwork. One third of the payment is due when the contract is signed and the remainder is due when the last painting is delivered."

"Your check is already waiting with my secretary." All it lacked was the amount to be filled in. A warmth lit his eyes. "And no, I was not being overly presumptions, merely... _hopeful_." His use of 'Erik's' word did not go unnoticed. "I will have your rooms prepared immediately, and you may move in whenever you like."

"I'll need a few days to get everything settled on my end." Her mind was already busy making a list of all the things she'd need to take care of.

"Of course." Charles smiled. "I will inform the staff that you will be joining us for some months while you get a feel for this place and the people living here." He paused. "And I will make sure they are aware that the subject of joining the team is not to be broached under any circumstances." Marie nodded as he continued, "I will also inform the students that an artist will be joining us to do some work for the school, and I will, with your permission, disclose the nature of your mutation so that there will no unpleasant... mishaps... during your stay with us."

"Thank you."

"I would also like to make it clear that while I will inform my staff that I have commissioned you to do several works, I would prefer they not know some of the pieces are intended to be personal gifts."

Marie smiled. "It won't be a problem. Whatever you want to tell them about that is completely up to you. I pretty much just need to hang around and talk with them a little. Get to know them again. Nothing intrusive. As far as the actual painting is concerned, I'll probably start with the ones for the school first and finish those here. That will give me the time to get to know everyone as well as I can. As for the other paintings, I'll begin the preliminary work on them here and finish them in my studio downtown. I probably won't need to stay here the full nine months, just long enough to get a real feel for things."

"I will leave that decision up to you. You may stay as long as you like." A bell rang faintly in the distance and Charles smiled as he checked his watch. "As it seems our business is concluded, would you care to join me for lunch? Most of the staff will probably be there."

"Most?"

Charles chuckled. "Yes. Scott, Jean and Ororo will probably make an appearance. Occasionally — well, more than occasionally — Henry gets so involved down in the lab he forgets all about eating."

"I see that hasn't changed." Henry, or Hank, as he'd been to her, had always put his love of knowledge above his need for food. Well, that and Marie figured he still kept a substantial Twinkie stash down in the lab. He might miss a meal, but he didn't exactly go hungry.

"It most certainly has not." Charles replaced his cup in the saucer. "As for Logan, he rarely dines with us. He prefers to eat alone." His brow furrowed momentarily as a thought occurred to him. "As did you, if memory serves."

Marie shrugged lightly. "I still felt awkward eating with the gloves and it made most of the others too nervous when I took them off."

Her honest answer caught him off guard and he stiffened briefly. Not wanting to make an uneasy moment even more so, Charles forced himself to relax and keep his voice even as he responded to her surprisingly personal revelation. "In all the times we spoke, you never told me that."

"There was a lot I didn't tell you back then." Marie smiled to soften her words.

"I'm sorry. I should have realized—"

"Don't be too hard on yourself. We both did the best we could back then, Charles." Marie stood, clearly ready to end discussion on the topic. "It's okay, really. It's all in the past and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"I understand." He wished that were not the case, but he knew he couldn't push her. This tentative relationship needed to move along at a pace she was comfortable with or it wouldn't move at all, and he was quite surprised she'd made even a single mention of an incident from their shared past. Perhaps this was one fence he'd be able to mend after all.

"Thank you." Marie smiled warmly. "And I would take you up on your offer for lunch, but I have an appointment with another client." She laughed lightly. "An appointment I've got to keep if you're going to monopolize all my time for the next several months."

"Very well. I will see you in a few days then, Rogue."

With a nod and a few last pleasantries, she took her leave, checking to be sure she was alone in the hall before giving a silent 'Whoop!' and a hugely unprofessional, yet totally exuberant, jump for joy. Ten paintings! Sure, she was going to have to give up a lot of her much-valued privacy and face some rather unpleasant memories by returning here, but ten paintings? At DOUBLE her going rate? She couldn't believe it. She spun around giddily one last time before composing herself. Ten paintings. Pretty damn good for someone who'd spent two years living hand-to-mouth on the streets while she got her head on straight.

She stopped briefly to leave the pertinent details with Charles' secretary and to pick up her check, and then she was on the road. The miles rolled by unnoticed as she made a quick call to her agent to share the good news. Still giddy, she hit the end button and tossed her cell phone into the passenger seat, both thrilled and apprehensive about what the coming months would bring.

* * *

Up next: **The Wolverine**. Enter the Wolverine. Logan and Charles have words about their new guest...


	3. The Wolverine

Logan halted on his way up the back stairs as he caught an unfamiliar scent. The school didn't have many visitors, especially not ones that made use of the back stairs. In fact, most visitors didn't get much beyond the front desk and Charles' secretary, Elaine — the Dragon Lady, as she was more commonly known among the staff and students. An interesting title, considering the woman wasn't a mutant, although the students swore up and down that she had eyes in the back of her head, a skin as thick as leather, and a flaming tongue. The staff were inclined to agree.

Logan breathed in deeply, following the elusive scent. God, it smelled good. _Really_ good. Not in the same way food or perfume smelled good, exactly. It was more basic, more primal. There was something almost familiar about it and it stirred something within him, a tingle of awareness — like he should be able to place the scent, but couldn't. Logan wondered, not for the first time, why certain scents had the power to affect him so profoundly. Then again, if he had a quarter for every time something sparked an almost-memory from his hazy past, he'd be able to bankroll Charles by now.

He grinned when he realized where the scent led. He stopped outside Elaine's office and stuck his head in the door. He had a love-hate relationship with the dignified old battleaxe. He loved to provoke her and she hated to let him think he could get away with his good-natured teasing... well, at least not before she got in a few good shots herself.

Logan winked at her. "Hey, darlin'. Chuck in?"

She tsked at his familiarity. "Good afternoon, Mr. Logan. Professor Xavier has just returned from luncheon." Her eyes twinkled in spite of her frosty tone. "And I am not, nor will I ever be your 'darling,' you scoundrel." She smoothed a hand over silver hair and patted her bun regally as she gave his scruffy face the once over. "Back in my day, men shaved before courting a woman."

Logan grinned wider. "Heh. That before or after they killed the dinosaur and dragged it home, honey?" He could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. That too was part of the game.

She smiled slyly. "Seeing as how you are most likely my elder by several centuries, I should think you already know the answer to that impertinent question, Mr. Logan."

Logan chuckled good-naturedly. "Good thing I heal, Elaine. That tongue of yours'll strip the hide right off a man."

"I'm glad to see I haven't lost my touch," she made a dismissive motion with her hand as the phone on her desk started to ring. "Professor Xavier is free to see you. Now get out of my office, old man. I have work to do."

"Sure thing... _darlin'_." He shot her a parting smirk and headed down the short hall towards Charles' office. He stopped outside the door to take a deep breath. Yes, whomever that scent belonged to had definitely spent some time here this afternoon and—

"Come." Charles' clipped voice was clearly audible through the door.

Glaring at the thick English oak, Logan stepped inside and closed the door after himself. "I hate it when ya do that, Chuck."

"Hazards of lingering outside a telepath's door, I'm afraid." Charles closed a file he'd been reading and gave Logan his full attention.

Logan grunted in amusement and his nostrils flared, unable to stop following the intriguing scent. He bypassed his usual perch on the divan and came to sit in the chair Marie had vacated less than an hour before. Charles watched him intently, but said nothing. Logan resisted the urge to stroke his fingers over the arm of the chair and met the Professor's questioning gaze.

"Is there something I can do for you, Logan?"

"Just wonderin' about your visitor." Logan saw the question in Charles' eyes. "Smelled 'em," he offered before Charles could ask. He'd already decided against adding that he not only liked the scent, but that something in it niggled at him, and it bothered him that he'd found the scent on the back stairs — a place visitors just didn't go unless escorted by one of the staff. He also knew Charles wasn't in the habit of letting strangers mingle with his students and something just wasn't adding up here.

"Ah, yes. That would be Rogue." Charles' demeanor suddenly changed as a worrisome thought occurred to him. "Is there a problem?" Logan had been in charge of the school's security for several years now and to have his head of security in his office, asking questions about Rogue within an hour of her visit, was unsettling to say the least. He did not want his second chance to be over before it had even started.

"Dunno. Just checkin' a few things out. Caught the scent on the back stairs and you didn't mention expectin' any visitors you'd trust 'round the kids in our briefin' this mornin'."

At his words, Charles visibly relaxed. "I am sorry. The situation is a bit... unusual." Logan raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Rogue was a student of mine."

"Hmph." Charles' scent said there was more going on here than just a visit from an old student, but at least that explained why she'd been allowed to move through the school unescorted... and everyone who'd ever lived here knew the back staircase was a faster route to the parking lot. Well, that was one mystery solved. Logan grunted. "What kinda name is Rogue?"

Charles smiled wryly. "This from a man who moonlights as the Wolverine?"

Logan chuckled. "You gotta point there, Wheels."

"Touché." The Professor's smile faded. "I will be discussing the particulars of that meeting with the staff tonight after dinner and I would prefer not to repeat myself needlessly, so I will be brief." His lips twitched. "The truth — straight up, no chaser, if you will."

"Fine by me." He much preferred that to long, drawn out explanations anyway.

"Ten years ago, for a very brief period of time, Rogue was my student. She left shortly before your arrival."

'Arrival'? Well, that was putting a nice face on it. Scott and Storm had dragged his sorry, half-dead carcass out of some godforsaken Canadian forest after he'd had a run-in with some_thing _they later told him not only had a name — Sabretooth — but also an owner. Magneto.

_Fuckers_.

He suppressed a growl and focused again on Charles. Logan didn't have to be a telepath to see that Charles wasn't at all happy about how things had turned out with Rogue. "I take it you weren't real thrilled 'bout her leavin'?"

"No. I was not." He drew in a deep breath and let it out. "The long and the short of it is that after ten years, I have a second chance. I do not intend to waste it."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Christ. You want her for the team." That was something with which he was all too familiar, and he had a strong suspicion that Charles' desire to have her on the team had played a part in her leaving to begin with. Hell, he'd left this place himself _several_ times before he finally joined up.

He was starting to like this Rogue. Charles was a good man who helped a lot of people, but he was also a persuasive man with a clear agenda. Though polite, Charles was a force to be reckoned with when he set his mind to something, and Logan had to admire anyone who stood up to that.

"What I want is irrelevant. She is an artist now, not a student in need of...direction. I requested a meeting with her to see if she would agree to paint several pieces for the school." A smile touched his lips. "She has accepted my offer. In exchange, I have given her my word that there will be no talk of her joining our team. She will be here to paint. Nothing more."

_Yeah, right._ Logan snorted. "Sounds familiar. Only in my case, I was just here so you could help me find some answers." He leveled Charles with a knowing stare. "You won't push her, just like ya didn't push me, but you ain't above a little coercion and we both know it."

"She has made it quite clear she has no desire to join our efforts."

"So did I." Logan grunted. He couldn't really fault Charles for that. It had been his own decision to join the team, but this place had a way of getting under a person's skin. And Charles was a perceptive man. He knew how to hook people. Christ, and Charles called _him_ the pied piper? That man had him beat hands down. Convincing a kid was one thing. Convincing the Wolverine was another thing entirely. Logan shot him an unreadable look. "Don't bullshit me, Chuck. You'd be fuckin' ecstatic if she decided she wanted to put on the leather."

Charles' lips thinned. "Be that as it may, I have given my word. I have been given the chance to acquire some very fine art and perhaps to mend a fence or two. Anything beyond that is entirely up to her."

"Hmph." Logan grunted again. "What kinda mutation does she have, anyway?" He knew it had to be an alpha level mutation for Charles to want this second chance so badly.

"Her skin."

"What's it do?"

"Whenever Rogue touches someone, she absorbs their energy, their life force. In the case of mutants, she absorbs their 'gifts' for a short while."

_Whenever_ she touched someone? That sounded pretty shitty for her. "You tellin' me if she touched Cyke, it'd not only put him down, but after, she could just open her eyes and level this fuckin' place?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

"Jesus." Logan whistled softly and then was silent a long moment as he remembered all the hushed talk surrounding an incident that had supposedly occurred shortly before his arrival. "She's the one, isn't she? The one Magneto took."

"She is."

"And she was still willin' to come back here and talk with ya?" Charles nodded and Logan's opinion of her rose another notch. "I like her already," he smirked. He might live here, might put his ass on the line for the team each and every time they went out, but he was still the Wolverine. He didn't sugarcoat things for anyone.

Truth be told, he enjoyed needling Charles and the others, if for no other reason than the sense of camaraderie it gave him. Well, that, and he'd always taken an obscene amount of pleasure in making Slim's ears steam. _Heh. _And in his opinion, not nearly enough people around here told things like they were, let alone possessed the guts to openly defy Chuck.

"I thought you might." Charles nodded knowingly, all too familiar with Logan's gruff, prickly humor, and he understood it for what it was. Logan didn't play with people he didn't like. They only got silence and the business end of his claws. The Professor's amusement faded. "I cannot afford to make any mistakes this time, Logan. We must all put our best foot forward."

Logan frowned. "I don't care who she is to you. I ain't pretendin' to be somethin' I'm not. She either takes us as is or she can stick it where the sun don't shine." He didn't care if she _had_ stood up to Chuck. He didn't dance for anyone. If she didn't like that then she could take a flying fuck — and, for that matter, so could the Professor. "I ain't makin' nice just so you can get her to join up."

"I would not dream of asking such a thing from _any_ of you. It would be a disservice to her, and to everyone here, for us to pretend to be something we are not. It is my fondest wish she sees us all as we truly are." There was something in the Professor's scent that made Logan think there was more to that last statement than just the obvious, but Charles continued, despite Logan's intense stare. "I am merely voicing my concern and requesting that the staff —"

"Not fuck with the newbie?" Logan's lips twitched. They'd all been known to do that on occasion. Look how Slim had treated him upon his arrival. Of course, flirting shamelessly with Jean just to piss him off and calling him a dick hadn't exactly helped matters, but they'd long since settled things between them. Jean's subsequent marriage to Scott had sent a clear message that she was, and always would be, his girl. Logan had, of course, continued to flirt with her to provoke Scott, and Scott had continued to give it back as just good. Neither of them would have it any other way. They _enjoyed_ rubbing each other the wrong way.

"Indeed." Charles smiled dryly. He knew all too well his staff's penchant for practical jokes, biting sarcasm, and one-upmanship, just as he realized those behaviors were a part of how they dealt with the stresses heaped on them by doing what they did day in and day out. "Nobody will be expected to 'make nice' as you so eloquently put it, but I do expect all of you to extend to her the same courtesy you would to any outside professional working here." Charles smoothed a hand over his impeccable suit and his expression became serious. "I want her stay with us to be as pleasant as possible. This is one fence I want very much to mend."

Logan nodded curtly. "Gotcha." He pushed himself from the chair, confirmed he would be back in time for the meeting Charles had scheduled after dinner, and left the office without a backward glance. As much as he didn't care for meetings, he'd gladly sit through the one tonight. He was interested in learning more details about the mysterious 'Rogue' and her upcoming stay at the school. Logan grinned. Hell, Chuck could mend all the damn fences he liked.

Logan, however, had an entirely different set of plans — plans that definitely included getting to know the woman who'd not only stood up to Charles, but whose still-lingering scent had just made his jeans uncomfortably tight.

* * *

Up next: **The Meeting**. In which everything old is new again. The Wolverine finally meets The Rogue...


	4. The Meeting

Gravel crunched under the tires as Marie brought her Jeep to a stop and turned off the engine. All the butterflies in her stomach seemed to take flight at once as she glanced up at the school. It was just as grand and impressive as it had been ten years ago, but it wasn't the last bastion of hope that it had once seemed. Now it was simply the home of her employer. Somehow, that thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been. Closing her eyes, Marie allowed herself a long moment to gather her courage before she pushed open the door and stepped out into the brisk spring afternoon.

Marie surveyed the amount of stuff in the back of her Jeep and sighed. She'd originally intended to arrive much earlier to give herself time to settle in leisurely, but the morning had gotten away from her as she was inundated with a barrage of last minute details.

It was nearly one o'clock before she managed to get away, and due to a traffic jam caused by a rather nasty rollover accident on the highway, it was already late afternoon when she arrived in Westchester. She was supposed to be having dinner with the staff this evening and she had wanted to be settled in beforehand so she could have a safe haven already prepared, in case things didn't go as smoothly as Charles had promised they would. Marie was all too aware there were some things beyond even his control.

Tugging a little self-consciously at her gloves, a nervous habit she'd thought she'd long ago conquered, Marie opened the back of the Jeep and was about to grab her bag when a blur of motion caught her eye. A piercing whistle rent the air and the blur of little boy skidded to a stop a few feet from her legs. Equally frozen for a brief second by the sharp whistle, Marie's body relaxed marginally as her eyes flew to the source of the sound, surprised to find Scott standing a short distance away, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry." This wasn't quite the welcome she'd expected. He grinned at her and Marie's heart turned over. There was no way she'd forget _that_ smile. Both she and Kitty had been shamelessly infatuated with him ten years ago. At twenty-five, he'd been the fodder for most of her adolescent, schoolgirl fantasies. At thirty-five, his frame had filled out and he had a touch of gray at his temples that only made him seem more the unflappable, fearless leader than ever before. This was a man who would inspire loyalty and confidence in battle. No question about it.

Scott turned to address the small child curiously watching Marie with bright blue eyes and a petulant expression. Regardless of the fact that he knew Rogue - as covered as she was - couldn't hurt his son, Scott's heart had seized in his chest as he watched his child hurtling towards her. He used his best no-nonsense 'daddy voice'. "James, you know the rules." At five, his son was still young enough to want to crawl into everyone's lap, but while he and Jean hadn't wanted to discourage him from giving and receiving affection, they were careful to teach him that not everyone at the school was safe to touch without warning and he always had to ask before launching himself, especially at new people.

The little boy scuffed his toe in the gravel. "But, poppa, I wasn't gonna touch her!" Both Scott and Marie winced at little at that. While Scott wanted to make Rogue feel at home, his first responsibility was to his family. Their safety came before Rogue's feelings. The little boy looked from his father to Marie. "What's your name?"

Sensing some hesitation on her part, the fearless leader stepped in and answered smoothly, "This is Miss Rogue. She's going to live here for a little while and paint some things for Uncle Charles."

James' little brow furrowed. "I'm James." He gave Marie a hopeful look. "Hugs?"

Marie looked to Scott who nodded once at her. She was completely covered, jeans, boots, fitted black turtleneck sweater, and gloves. "I'd love a hug." She didn't get nearly enough, especially from people who were so accepting. Before she could crouch down, James bounded over and gave her legs a quick hug before he made his way around to the back of her car to see what cool things Miss Rogue had brought with her.

Scott smiled again. "Sorry about that." He ran a hand through his hair and as her eyes caught on the simple gold band on his finger, her heart lurched again. "I was hoping for a more normal greeting, you know, instead of one that blew out your eardrums."

Marie couldn't help but smile back even though she felt like her insides were spinning out of control. She'd tried not to have too many preconceived ideas about this place, but she hadn't expected to find Scott both a husband and a father. It wasn't that she was still interested in him. She was long past the days of schoolgirl crushes, but her heart ached all the same. It wasn't jealousy so much as it was a terrible longing for the same things he had. Love. Family. Happiness. Shoving a lid on her rioting emotions, she shouldered her bag, trying for a lightness she didn't really feel. "That's some whistle."

Scott looked to where his son was intently eyeing the pile of stuff in the back of her car and chuckled. "Aside from Jean's TK, it's the only thing that'll stop him in his tracks." Well, that and a full-on Wolverine growl, but Rogue probably didn't need to know that just yet.

Marie laughed. "I think there's a good chance that whistle of yours stopped the basketball game I saw going on the other side of the school when I drove in."

"Probably." Scott didn't look at all apologetic. "I've got to say, it comes in handy-"

Another blur emerged from behind her, this time making a beeline for Scott's legs. He caught the chubby bundle of pumping arms and legs and tossed the little girl in the air, chuckling as she squealed. He caught her tightly and grinned as she gave his cheek a loud, wet smack. "Hi, peanut. Where's mom?"

The little girl, who looked to be about three, stuck a finger in her mouth and lisped, "Lab." She removed the finger long enough to add, "Cwistopher too."

"So much for a quiet greeting." Scott shrugged and smoothed the rumpled jumper that was as red as the little girl's hair. "This is Lilia, my daughter. Lily, this is Miss Rogue. Lily's a twin. Her brother, Christopher-"

"Give it a rest already, Slim. It's bad enough you're subjectin' her to the rugrats straight off," Logan winked at James and Lily, who'd insisted he take her outside to see her poppa and the 'pwetty lady.' "You could at least let her unpack before ya go tellin' her 'bout how ya filled Jeannie up with two babies insteada one."

Scott chuckled. "I can't take the credit. Twins run in Jean's family." He bounced Lily on his arm and smiled. He nodded his head at the person Marie could hear approaching behind her. "Rogue, meet Logan, head of security, resident smart-mouth, and all-around pain in my ass."

James stopped poking around in the back of Marie's car at the sound of that. His head peeked around the corner of the car, eyes wide. "Poppa, you said 'ass'."

"Don't tell your mother." That from Logan and Scott-in stereo. Obviously not the first time the two of them had expressed that particular sentiment. Scott wondered for the thousandth time if his kids didn't have some heretofore, undiscovered mutant ability to hone in on cuss words, no matter how softly spoken. Logan, whose ears were still ringing from the piercing whistle, shot Scott a dirty look and fought the urge to rub his ear as he turned his attention back to Lily's 'pwetty lady.'

A full-throated laugh escaped from Marie before she could stifle it behind one gloved hand. Eyes still bright with laughter, she turned to greet Logan. "Hello."

As she turned to face him, Logan felt like he'd been sucker-punched. God, and he thought she'd looked good from the back. She was shorter than Jean and 'Ro and curvier too. Both Jean and 'Ro had amazing figures, fighter's bodies, carefully maintained to perform at peak condition in battle situations, but Logan preferred his women to look like women, not soldiers. Not fat, just soft and rounded in all the right places—breasts full enough to fill his large hands and hips built for holding on to when the ride got a little wild. Who wanted to lie on a bag of pointy bones for Christsakes? He spared Lily and James a glance. Heh. Well, maybe it worked for Slim, but he definitely preferred petite and curvaceous to lean and leggy.

His eyes traveled upwards. Rogue's face was just as attractive. Dark, glittering eyes and an absolutely amazing mouth. God, he loved women with full, red lips. She had a mouth built for sex and a throaty laugh to match. Her hair was swept up in a loose knot and it had two unusual white streaks in the front. He liked them. They gave her wholesome girl-next-door looks an exotic flair. He fought the urge to reach out and touch the white tendril that had escaped and was teasing her cheek as the wind blew. She smelled incredibly good and from her scent, he could tell she liked what she was seeing too.

"Hey, darlin'. Nice to meetcha."

Marie noticed he stuck out his hand without even the slightest hesitation, despite the fact he had to have known about her skin. Pretty gutsy move. Her opinion of him rose another notch. Not many adults were so accepting of her mutation and Marie's insides quivered at his husky voice and the strength in his large hand as he gripped her slender fingers firmly. God, what would it feel like to be held in this man's arms? He was masculinity personified. Tall and broad-shouldered with a heavy musculature that spoke of leashed strength and absolute authority. He had an incredibly powerful presence and she suddenly felt very small and feminine standing next him.

Despite his rough and imposing exterior — boots, jeans, belt buckle, t-shirt, flannel, muttonchops, and somewhat wild-looking hair — his warm hazel eyes were expressive and intelligent and as he smiled at her, they crinkled up at the corners. He was handsome in a rugged, primal sort of way — a way that probably would have frightened her ten years ago, but one she now found incredibly attractive.

This was a man who knew what to do with a woman. Marie was sure of it. He wore his confidence comfortably, a little cockily maybe, but in an attractive kind of way and it was clear he enjoyed baiting Scott, something she found highly amusing. She wondered if he gave Charles as much trouble. She secretly hoped so. Not enough people stood up to Charles, especially here.

Scott watched the silent exchange between Logan and Rogue as they shook hands. He might see in shades of red, but he wasn't blind. He swallowed a smile. Lily chose that moment to speak up. "She's pwetty, poppa."

Marie blushed, a look Logan very much liked and he winked at her. "A Summers with good taste. Hmph. Guess it was bound to happen eventually." Logan smirked at Scott. "Now let's say we getcha moved in, darlin'." He shot Scott a hard look for keeping Rogue standing there holding her bag throughout the lengthy introductions. "Slim here can ride herd over the rugrats and I'll get a couple of the older kids to help me get your gear upstairs before dinner. That alright?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I can get it later. I don't want to put anyone out." It would be nice to have help carrying it all to the third floor, but it wasn't necessary and she didn't want to impose on anyone. She wasn't too sure what Charles had told them, but she guessed that at least a few of them probably weren't going to be too keen on having her around, observing, even though she was perfectly capable of doing so without getting underfoot. No sense in wearing out her welcome sooner than she had to.

"You can do it that way if you wanna," Logan gave James a wink. "But then James and I don't get to satisfy our curiosity. Ain't that right, bub?"

"You got some real interesting boxes in there, Miss Rogue," James added helpfully.

"Oh, for goodness sake, James." Jean rolled her eyes at all of them as she walked over and kissed Lily on the cheek. "Rogue, it's nice to see you again. You look well."

"Thanks, Jean. You look good, as always." It was true. Jean's face, though a bit older, had a softness and warmth that she didn't remember it having before — especially when she looked at her children. Marie smiled. As an awkward teenager, she'd been so envious of Jean's poise and elegance, but now that Marie had grown into herself, Jean didn't seem quite so intimidatingly perfect anymore. Marie's eyes grew warm. "And your children are beautiful."

Jean smiled at the compliment. "That's kind of you to say." She harrumphed at Scott and Logan. "I came to rescue you before my family kept you on the quad indefinitely." Marie hid a smile. This was the Jean she remembered-a little bossy, but in a kindhearted sort of way. "Logan can show you upstairs and I'll follow with your things as soon as James and I have a little talk about manners."

"Awww, mom."

Jean silenced her son with a stern look before she turned her attention back to Rogue. "All this is going up to the studio, right?"

"Everything except for my two suitcases and this bag." Marie looked at Jean. "Really, I don't mind carrying it up. I don't want to intrude any more than I already have."

"Nonsense." Jean raised a hand and the pile of neatly stacked boxes floated out of the back of the Jeep in one solid block and came to hover effortlessly a foot off the ground. Marie was a little surprised. It was clear Jean's 'gifts', and her confidence in them, had grown considerably in the last ten years. "It's no trouble. You two go on ahead. We'll be up in a minute." She gave James a telling look. "Scott, I left Christopher in the lab with Hank. Would you mind-"

"Already going." He smiled warmly at his wife and playfully mouthed the words 'show off.' Jean's teasing mental retort rang in his head and he sincerely hoped that tonight, after their children were in bed, she'd carry out her naughty little threat. He blew her a kiss, told Rogue he'd see her later, and went off in search of his wayward child before the other one could tattle to his mother that he'd overhead his father use the word 'ass' in polite conversation.

Logan grabbed her two suitcases off the top of the hovering block of gear and turned to Rogue. "The way I figure it, if Summers and his brood haven't managed to scare you off, nothin' else around here will." He gave her a smile. "You ready to head up?"

Marie reached in the car and grabbed her leather jacket and her cell phone. "Yup, all set."

Logan closed his eyes briefly and gritted his teeth as his mind conjured up the image of Rogue wearing that buttery-soft black leather... and _nothing_ else. The silky feel of her gloved hand had been bad enough. He could feel his body beginning to swell in response to both the image in his mind and the remembered feel of her small, cool fingers sliding against his warm palm. He wondered what it would feel like to have those silky gloves slide over the rest of his body as well. His eyes opened to find Jean smirking at him._ Shit. Goddamn telepaths. _

_{I heard that, Logan.} _Her scolding was spoiled by the mental giggle that followed it. _{Sheesh... Gloves? And I thought Scott was kinky.}_

Logan shot Jean the mental equivalent of 'the bird' and grinned as he turned to Rogue. "Chuck has ya on the third floor, first door on the left." He inclined his head toward the nearest set of doors. "After you, darlin'."

* * *

Up next: **The Rogue**. The Wolverine and The Rogue. Y'all knew I couldn't end this one up without a little taste of them together. (My LoganMuse would also like to point out that he's just met her and he's _already_ on his way up to her room...) Heh.


	5. The Rogue

As they walked away from the Jeep, Logan couldn't help but smile as he overheard James spilling his guts to Jean.

"But, mom, he said _ass_— "

James' words were cut off as the door closed behind them, leaving Logan and Rogue alone in a quiet hallway. They grinned at each other and Logan gestured to the stairs on the left. "Heh. Ratted out by his own kid." He paused as his eyes followed Rogue's nicely-shaped behind up the first few steps before he started up after her. "Gotta admit, there's a certain justice in that."

"You think?"

"Hell, yes. Slim knows that whistle of his makes my ears ring for a good ten minutes." Actually, it was more like twenty due to his acute sense of hearing, but he wasn't too sure there was a way to tell her about that without sounding like either a braggart or a pansy.

Marie's mouth turned up. "You can say that again, sugar. I almost jumped out of my skin. That whistle'll take the paint right off the barn."

Logan's husky laughter echoed in the stairwell. She hadn't said much outside, but here her thick accent poured over him like warm honey, causing his already aroused body to tighten further, to say nothing of what hearing her call him 'sugar' did to his insides. A man could definitely get used to that slow, sweet drawl of hers. "True enough."

"Good thing none of us in the 'blast radius' were sound-sensitive or had some kind of aural mutation."

Logan grunted noncommittally, partly because the ringing in his ears had momentarily obliterated a few of her words and partly because he'd been distracted by the swing of her hips and the thin ribbon of creamy skin visible above her low rise jeans when she moved just right.

Marie drew in a sharp breath as the pieces clicked into place. She stopped and turned to face him. _Oh crap._ "You have some kind of secondary aural mutation, don't you? That's why you were rubbing your ear outside."

_What does she mean 'secondary'?_ "Somebody already tell ya about the claws?" He wasn't angry, just curious. It wasn't like it was a big secret or anything. The claws regularly made an appearance, even if it was only one of them, aimed rudely in Scott's general direction.

"Claws?" _Just how many mutations does he have, anyway?_ "No, Charles told me you healed."

Logan nodded as they started back up the stairs. "Yeah, that too. Healin', claws, and enhanced senses."

"Wow." Already feeling for him after her earlier discussion with Charles, in which he had divulged Logan healed from "almost anything," Marie felt doubly bad for him. If his enhanced senses included touch as well as sound and scent, healing had to be excruciating. He didn't, however, look to be the kind of man who would want her sympathy, so she held her tongue.

Logan shrugged. "Keeps life interestin'." He turned off at the third floor and stopped in front of the first door. "This is you." He set her bags down and fished two keys from his breast pocket. "Here's the one for your room." He pushed it into the lock and opened the door. "The other one's for the studio at the end of this wing." He dropped the brass key into her palm and slowly closed her fingers over it before picking up her two suitcases and carrying them inside. Marie's stomach fluttered. Warm from his body heat, she could feel the key burning into her palm even through the thin silk of her glove.

It took her a second to find her voice. "Great, thanks." Marie followed him in, setting her bag down on the desk by the bay window. The room was elegant and tasteful without being opulent. It was also quite a bit more spacious than she was expecting, although it suddenly seemed smaller to her with him in it. Logan's powerful male presence seemed to fill up the space, electrifying it until she was unable to notice anything but him. That he was seemingly oblivious to that fact only served to heighten its effect. Marie swallowed hard as he moved confidently through the room, and she tucked the key into the back pocket of her jeans, forcing herself to get a grip on her wildly unexpected response to this man who she'd only just met.

He grinned at her, almost as if he could sense her fierce inner struggle to appear calm and detached despite her intense reaction to him. "Bedroom's through that door. Bathroom too." He gestured to the space. "The whole place has wireless now. Chuck has the password. You'll get it at dinner tonight."

Her mouth turned up slightly at his nickname for Charles. She thought about what 'Chuck's' reaction to that nickname must have been, and her smile got bigger. She thought it was pretty amusing. Erik did too. "The laptop's a necessary evil, I'm afraid. But at least email is better than having to talk on the phone if you don't want to. I don't even like texting." Even as a young girl, she'd never been a phone person. She'd always preferred face-to-face, touchy-feely conversations. A little ironic, considering the nature of the mutation she'd developed.

"Heh. Good point." Logan nodded to the other set of doors. "There's another real nice set of rooms through there with a table and a couch with a pull-out in case you wanna have company stay over or somethin'. I just need you to run it by me or Chuck first on account of the kids."

Marie smiled at that. "I remember." She too had been on the receiving end of Charles' lectures about outsiders and students mixing. Lord knew anyone who stayed here had to expect just about anything with so many children still learning to control their mutations. "But that won't be necessary. It's just me."

Logan grinned at her, more than a little relieved she hadn't told him to expect a man coming and going from her room. "Just coverin' all the bases, darlin'." _In more ways than one._ He hefted the suitcases; aware her eyes had momentarily left his to watch the play of his muscles under his shirt. _Heh._ She wasn't nearly as detached as she'd like him to believe she was. "Where do you want these?"

"On the bed please, sugar."

Logan nearly bit his tongue in two imagining Rogue's words in an entirely different context. _Any way you want, darlin'. The bed. The floor. The wall. Just say the word. _Logan bit back the sexually charged retort that was on the tip of his tongue. "Can do."

As Logan disappeared into the bedroom, Marie wandered into the adjoining suite. It was as elegantly understated as the sitting room and she could only imagine what her bedroom would look like. Busy exploring the other two rooms, Marie didn't hear Jean come in looking for Logan.

Jean stuck her head in the doorway as Logan was coming out of the bedroom. "Catch." She tossed him Rogue's car keys. "Scott's already cleared her a spot in the garage and all her stuff's in the studio ready to go."

Logan raised an eyebrow, sensing Jean was up to something. "Any particular reason why you want _me_ to move it?" He didn't mind doing it, but it was something any one of them could have done and she was far too smug for comfort.

Jean smiled. "Of course there is. Rogue's probably been in traffic for hours and I thought I'd give her a chance to use the bathroom without a strange man around." Her last pregnancy had given even her doctorly empathy a healthy shot in the arm when it came to matters of the bladder. Since then, Jean had sort of taken it upon herself to make sure that during any group event (long car rides, fieldtrips and the like) there were sufficient opportunities to use the facilities.

Jean called it being conscientious. Scott and Logan called it something else. Logan wondered again how the hell Slim had kept 'Pee Police' a secret considering the frequency with which Jean was in his head. _Sneaky little fucker_. "Just because you and Scott can hold it for six hours doesn't mean the rest of us can."

Logan held up his hands. "Christ, woman. That's enough already. I don't wanna hear 'bout anythin' south of Slim's belt." There were some places even the Wolverine didn't want to go. "I'll be back up to return her keys in a bit," and with that, he was out the door before Jean could tell him anything else about Scott's plumbing.

As the sound of a door closing hard enough to rattle it on its hinges, Marie poked her head out. "Was that Logan leaving?"

Jean nodded. "He's moving your car, I thought—"

"Oh, thank GOD! I had a double latte before I got stuck in traffic." She sailed past Jean and into the bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Emerging a few minutes later and feeling much better, they chatted pleasantly while Marie started unpacking one of her suitcases. It was nearly twenty minutes before there was a knock at the door announcing Logan's presence.

"Come on in."

Marie and Jean came out of the bedroom as Logan let himself in. "Sorry 'bout the wait. I surprised two kids... uh... neckin' in the back of Slim's SUV." It was clear from his hesitation they had been doing more than necking, and both women burst into laughter. Down in the garage, Logan had, in true Wolverine style, waited the whole six minutes it took for them to finish before he read them the riot act, gave them the 'use a condom or else' lecture — at claw point, no less — and then made sure they knew they had a better chance of not getting caught if they took it someplace a little more private.

"I trust you set them straight?" Jean finally managed when she'd gotten her giggles under control.

"Yeah," Logan's mouth twitched, "And you can tell Slim the new shocks he put in work real good." He grinned as Rogue's laughter rang out once more.

"I'll be sure to do that." Jean smiled at Rogue. "It was good to talk to you again, Rogue. Maybe we could catch up a little more over dinner?"

"I'd like that." She had been expecting a much more reserved welcome, but now she honestly wanted to get to know this warmer, softer Jean. It was also nice to be included in the camaraderie the adults shared. When she was here before, she'd been aware of their close friendships and playful teasing, but she'd been far too young to be included in their circle. And truthfully, it felt good to be a part of it now.

A piercing cry echoed up the stairwell. "Motherhood calls." Jean gave them a last smile and slipped out the door.

Logan rolled his eyes and handed over the keys. "Jeep's in the main garage next to Slim's SUV."

"Thanks, sugar."

"You need anythin' else, you just let me know, darlin'." His words could have been construed as flirty, but they also could have been a simple kindness from Charles' head of security to a long-term visitor — Marie just couldn't tell. She was woefully out of practice as far as romantic interpersonal relationships went.

Marie smiled a little apologetically. "I don't suppose you pick locks? It was kind of a hectic morning. Apparently while I was on my way down in the elevator, my neighbor's little girl jammed something in the lock on one of my suitcases."

"Well, I don't know if 'pick' is exactly the right word." Logan chuckled.

"I know what you're probably thinking... the flaky, scatterbrained artist was probably just too out-of-it to check if she had the key before she locked the silly thing." Marie smiled at him expectantly.

Logan snorted. "The thought did cross my mind, but hey, we all have our moments." Hell, he managed to get his entire trailer blown to bits, courtesy of Sabretooth, so it wasn't as if he had much room to talk.

Her grin got wider. "She also left part of her purple sucker stuck to the side of my suitcase and the lock smells like grapes."

"Heh. Got ya pretty good." He rubbed his knuckles absently. "Let's go take a look." Logan followed her into the bedroom. She was right. It did smell like grapes. He might have noticed that before if he hadn't been so intent on following her enticing backside up the stairs. "You, uh, don't scare easily do ya?" He gave her an unreadable look.

"No, not really." _Not unless your name happens to be Magneto_, she added silently.

"Good." He looked from her to the lock and popped the claws on one hand with a quiet snikt. Once he was sure she'd gotten a good look, he retracted two of them and turned to the matter at hand. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the claw cut through the substantial lock like butter and he retracted it, dropping the two pieces of the lock onto the brocade coverlet. "That'll do it." His voice was quiet, waiting for her reaction. He figured he might as well get this part over with. He wasn't ashamed of them, but he knew they freaked a lot of people out. Even mutants. He was interested in this woman, but there was no point in trying anything remotely romantic with her until he knew how she'd react to the claws. He'd been down that road before and it was not one he wanted to revisit.

Marie looked from the two halves of the lock to his hands in disbelief. When he'd said claws, she hadn't been expecting metallic ones. There was no way they could be a natural mutation. Her heart ached for him. Charles' comment about him healing from 'almost anything' suddenly took on a whole new meaning. One much darker and far more sinister than she'd originally believed.

Someone had _done_ that to him. She was sure of it. She felt an instant kinship with him. He was not the only one who'd had things done to him against his will. She met his eyes. This time, it was her look that was unreadable. "When they come out... does it hurt?"

"Every time." His own words surprised him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd admitted something so private to a woman he'd barely met. And not a single person in all the years he could remember had ever asked him if it hurt. Most people simply assumed that because he healed, he felt no pain.

She took his hand in hers and rubbed her thumb over his already healed knuckles. "I'm sorry."

Her gloved thumb felt silky and cool as it caressed his knuckles. The touch was soothing, but not sexual... although her scent suggested she wished it were otherwise.

He said nothing, but smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze before letting it go. A moment later, he heard Scott and Jean in the hall. Their muffled voices seemed to break the strangely intimate spell that had woven itself around them. In truth, Logan was a little relieved. He was far more comfortable sharing physical intimacy than emotional intimacy, and while he was intensely attracted to Rogue on a physical level, he wasn't the sort of man who shared his innermost self freely. With anyone. Ever.

Marie sensed the shift in his mood as he put both physical and emotional distance between them. She was glad he had. In such close quarters, his presence was incredibly overwhelming and she was here to work, not to lose her head and fall for a man she'd only just met. Marie decided to lighten the mood a little. As Jean and Scott's voices grew louder in the hall outside, Rogue winked at him and smiled. "So, where's _your_ room, sugar?"

Her tone was playfully flirty and he realized Jean must have recounted to her the story of his arrival and their subsequent conversation in his bedroom that first night. When he raised his eyebrow at her in question and again heard her full-throated laughter, he knew he was right. Logan chuckled. He was sorely tempted to throw 'down the hall... with Scott' back at her, but he had a better idea. He took one look at her sparkling eyes and playful smile and 'don't fuck with the newbie' got tossed right out the window.

At that moment, Scott and Jean appeared in the doorway and Logan had the distinct impression he'd been set up. He grinned cockily. He was always game for a little one-upmanship. He gave Scott a hard stare before turning to smirk at Rogue. "Slim, Red, and their rugrats are the only others on this floor. Chuck moved 'em up here to keep the rest of the residents sane." Logan ignored Scott's snort.

"What about you, sugar?" Marie couldn't help but play along.

A very wicked smile touched his lips. "I don't live in the school, darlin'. I'm too old for bed checks and curfews." He shot Scott a pointed glance before coming back to meet her eyes. "I live in the gamekeeper's cabin at the edge of the grounds." His voice dropped. "It's quiet and private and I can go to bed as late — or as _early_ — as the situation calls for."

It was clear from his tone by 'early' he meant in the wee hours of the morning. Despite the fact that she'd been mostly teasing when she'd drawled that question, his answer had made her mind immediately conjure all sorts of pleasurable ideas about what kinds of things might possibly keep a man like Logan up until the wee morning hours. Marie wondered if her face looked as hot as it felt.

Logan chuckled and behind his red shades, Scott's eyes rolled. "For God's sake, Logan— "

"Heh. Don't point that eye at me, Slim. I'm just finishin' what your wife started. Ain't that right, Jeannie?" Jean had the good grace to blush. Logan grinned at Rogue. "See you at dinner, darlin'." He flashed Scott a one claw salute where the women wouldn't see and disappeared out the door.

With an apologetic grin aimed at Rogue, Scott disappeared after him and caught up with Logan in the hall. Scott opened his mouth to say something, but Logan cut him off.

"No." Logan stopped walking and fixed Scott with a piercing stare, all traces of amusement gone. "This one ain't your girl, Slim. It ain't your place to warn me off. Not this time."

Scott nodded curtly, a little taken aback by the ferocity in Logan's quiet voice, but he understood the reason for it all too well. And man-to-man, he knew what this warning meant. It had been the same between men throughout all time. A man always knew when one of his good friends was seriously interested in a woman, and the Wolverine had wasted no time in making his claim on her crystal clear. Scott swallowed a smile. What made it even more amusing was he'd had no intention of warning Logan off anyone. He'd caught up with Logan for an entirely different reason, but it was clear Logan was in no mood to discuss anything else until this matter was settled.

Finally, Scott took pity on him. He grinned curiously, clapped Logan on the back and crowed, "Welcome to the family, brother," as he disappeared down the stairwell, still chuckling.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Whoa! Thanks, guys! This story got an awesome response, despite being unfinished, and I can say that the muses are definitely feeling the love. :) That's it for this story (at the moment) but there's probably a pretty good chance I'm going to come back to it down the road… though I want to finish Shine Against Me and Holding Ground II, first.

I apologize for the delay in posting. I crashed and burned after finals. Ugh. In any event, I'm back and I have one last chapter of Fine Art to share with all of you. After that, I've got two smutty little one-offs that are so new they don't even have titles yet. They're currently waiting a beta… so those should be along shortly.

And then up next:

**Shine Against Me  
**Logan and Marie and talk about pornography… and then things get crazy.  
_30+ chapters (and counting!)_

In the pipeline for later…

**Sanctuary  
**A girl alone on a snowy road needs a ride. She offers up the only thing she has of value to trade: herself. An alternative look at how Rogue's first meeting with the Wolverine might have gone if she'd had to talk her way into his truck instead of hiding in his trailer. W/R AU

and

**Walk the Line  
**Marie comes back after taking the Cure. "She'd always defend him though, even now – powerless and helpless, and they both knew it. It didn't even need saying. The care of this beautiful man was written in her bones."  
_9ish chapters (and counting)_

Certifiable, as always! :)


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